His fancy
by Lyllyfred
Summary: Billy Bones has an old score to settle with his captain. Will vengeance fill the empty void he feels inside? Set post series.
1. Chapter 1

Years I spent on that island, alone but for the memories of the horror that had gone before.

I concentrated on the one thing I knew would keep me alive.

Flint.

He was my constant companion. I saw him clearly in my mind, as clearly as though he were stood next to me; his eyes without mercy his jaw set, hand on his sabre.

I would survive this island, I would find him and cut his stone cold heart from his chest.

When I awoke in the night, in terror, convinced that I could hear the brothers I had slew calling to me to join them, I would see him and my resolve would strengthen.

I would not leave this earth before he had suffered a reckoning by my hand.

Yes, Flint would get me through.

As I struggled to survive, my conviction grew.

I imagined the different ways I could end him, each time his soulless eyes defying mine to the last.

Vengeance was all I had left.

My days were spent half in reality, half in fantasy. My mind would recount times past, times I had looked upon him and smiled, saved his life even.

It was true my choices had brought me to this, and I wished, wished so very dearly, that I could have that time back to alter them. I should have found some other way to break free of Flint, to depose him. My mistake was believing Silver strong enough to resist him.

Days, months, years passed.

Eventually I started to lose hope of rescue. Even thoughts of my revenge had become clouded.

But here's luck.

One day like a mirage, a small skiff appeared on the horizon. As she approached I could see she was manned by only a couple of men, one of whom, I recognized to be someone I had known well before.

It was easy for me to ambush them, I had the advantage of knowing the Island. Like some savage I killed his partner, cutting him down without pause. Then I turned my attention to my old friend Ben Gun.

Terrified he was of me, a spectre from an old nightmare. His voice a quiver, he told me everything that had passed since I had fallen into the sea.

I listened in disbelief. Anger and confusion tore at me.

His righteous war, his struggle against the blight of civilisation; it was never for the cause, never for any of us at all, it was simply revenge for the loss of a man he once loved named Thomas Hamilton.

A sudden flash of nausea caused me to sit down and a white hot pain arose behind my eyes as Gunn recounted the tale.

Ben explained that Silver (by some miracle) had discovered that Thomas was still alive, and fearing for Madi's safety, used this knowledge to convince Flint to stand down his crusade.

He recounted how they had taken him to the plantation, how his fight had slowly ebbed away, how Flint before his eyes had become another soul.

He'd heard that they had disappeared together to live out their days in Savannah.

Captain Flint, it appeared, was no more.

Madness threatened to overtake me.

Ben told me many other things: treasure, Silver, the fate of Nassau, all of which meant nothing to me.

What mattered, was only him.

I spared Ben, left him with the island and the treasure that lay hidden within it to keep him company. I felt some remorse, but my need to find Flint was too great.

As he had taken everything from me, I would take that which he loved most from him.

Thomas would die by my hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Selling the skiff gave me some currency, I then sought passage to a port as close to Savannah as I could find.

It took moths to hunt him down and many threats were made and disappointments suffered in that time.

Eventually, I met a man who described what could not fail to be Flint. For some coin, he was more than willing to tell me his whereabouts.

* * *

I found the house sat close to the river bank.

It had been a grand house one day, but now broken shutters hung carelessly from the large windows. Cracking, flaking pillars stood wearily along an ill kept porch, supporting a balcony that ran the length of the second floor.

A large old willow tree sat before the house, shading the entrance from the afternoon sun, making a valiant attempt at masking the dilapidation.

I stood amongst the overgrown garden and my eye was drawn to a small well-tended plot.

A grave.

Sheer panic raced through my veins, I sprang forth towards the stone.

The headstone read simply 'Thomas, my dearest love.' Then an inscription in a foreign language (Latin maybe) That I could not read.

Thomas was dead, but my hopes that _he_ might still be alive were rekindled. I felt relief, I knew I could find other ways to torture Flint.

As I stood gathering myself, I felt the sensation of being watched. I looked up to the balcony and there he stood.

I froze under his gaze.

I had imagined him, this moment, for so many years, yet he still managed to unnerve me.

His hair had grown since last I saw him, and he was slighter. His eyes stared down at me from under furrowed brows. He raised a glass to his lips and drained the contents, never taking his gaze from mine.

Finally. Finally, it would end.

He turned his back and re-entered the house.

Before I knew it I had kicked in the front door, it swung open easily under my foot and I realized that it had been unlocked.

I started for the stairs taking three, four steps at a time.I calmed myself as I neared his room, but my hands shook still. Gathering courage, I felt for my sword and drew my pistol.

Slowly I entered.

The room was furnished with a large unmade bed, small cabinet and an ornate wardrobe.

Flint sat in a high back chair close to the open window leading out to the balcony. A small table stood next to him holding a bottle of rum, in his hand the empty glass. I saw no weapon, and he paid me no attention.

His gaze was fixed out of the window down on the well-kept plot. A small smile touched the corner of his lips as he finally turned to face me.

"I've been waiting ."He poured himself another drink.

"Although," he said raising an eyebrow "I didn't expect it to be you."

I frowned and cocked my pistol. Such hatred I felt, such demons that man had unleashed inside me, turning me into something I did not recognize anymore. I struggled to form words.

" You took everything" my hands shook, " everything from me."

I hadn't anticipated this would hurt me so. Flints face was impassive, his eyes never leaving mine.

" What I did." My voice was on the verge of breaking, I steadied myself. " The monster I have become," I made myself of steel, "It is a monster of your making, and it will be your end. "

Flint smiled " Billy," The sound of my name on his lips gave me cause to shudder. " We have always been monsters, since the day we were born, you and I". He drained his glass amused by his insight.

" I watched you when we fought, when you shot down your brothers. Bared teeth, eyes of ice and fire. A creature of no mercy." He smiled "We tell ourselves we were made into godless creatures, that we are given no choice."

His eyes flickered momentarily, harking back to a different time maybe, before focusing and hardening again, "No Billy. We looked our demons in the face, the ones that hold on so dearly to our evil intent, and we let them out." He suddenly looked bored of the conversation, "It has always been in us,all of us." Flint reached to refill his glass, "Blame me if you must, for your own failure to fight your true self. But know that our actions are ours, without penitence, and ours alone. "

My plans of how I would end this man had disappeared. I found myself crossing the room, dis-guarding my Pistol and sword, my hands reaching for him grasping around his neck. I wrenched Flint up from his seat and flung him down onto the bed, there sat atop him I began to squeeze for all I was worth.

He lay beneath me, his hands curled in the sheets, he showed no opposition as I tightened my grip on his throat. I wrung his airway, still, he did not try to throw me off. Instead, almost as a surrender, he braced himself against the mattress.

I realized then that Flint wanted me to kill him, he was welcoming the death I brought to him.

In all the different ways I had imagined over the years, how this moment would pass, this outcome had never occurred to me.

I felt my eyes starting to fill with tears of frustration.

I could not kill him if that was what he desired.I loosened my grip and his eyes opened; the disappointment evident.

Somehow I dragged myself away from him.

Slowly he sat up rubbing his throat. I gathered my pistol and sword and stood silently.

" You don't wish to kill me then Billy?" his voice was hoarse and mocking.

" You fucking liar." I spat at him. " all for him?" I pointed out to the grave.

"For Thomas," his voice hushed as he spoke his name " I would have done anything."

Ben was right, this was not the Flint I once knew. I wondered for the first time what kind of man Thomas must have been to render him so.

He moved now for the bottle and dis-guarding the glass took a long hard draught.

"You chose to stand against me." He spoke softly looking out of the window rather than meet my eye. " I never wanted to be your enemy."

Again I lunged for him, grabbing fists full of shirt spinning him around so that he faced me. My rage had bettered me again. I shoved him backwards, pinning him against the wall, roaring at him.

" I have never felt such hate, as that which I feel for you." my own voice sounded strange to me "You are the devil himself, sent to torment me. You drove me to this place, broke me and left me with nothing." His eyes twitched but he held my gaze." Turned everyone against me, forced me to do things...things I.." My voice trailed off, I was losing myself to past deeds, things I did not want to remember.

Flint raised his hand and placed it on my shoulder, it felt warm and familiar there.

Suddenly, other memories flooded my mind. Memories of an open sea and a fair wind waiting to be caught,my brothers beside me working together as one. When the sails were full and we were cutting through the blue, that same hand had clapped me on the shoulder with true admiration and I had felt... happiness.

I stumbled away from him. "Don't touch me!"

I realized now I had shown him my weakness, and when I looked upon him I saw that he had pity in his eyes.

This was something I could not bear to stand.

I lurched from his room, out of the house to the cover of that grand old tree and wept for my sorry soul.


	3. Chapter 3

The day became dark an yet still I could not move.

Leaning against the tree trunk, I remained, some great weight of tiredness and hopelessness anchoring me to that spot.

I felt so alone, more so than I ever did on the island. Flint had not returned to the balcony or ventured down to find me. A light had been lit in his room as darkness fell, but otherwise there was no sign of him. I glanced across towards the grave, at least now I though, we are both alone and damned. This gave me some comfort.

A creak sounded from behind me and I peered around the trunk.

Flint was stood on the porch, he swayed back and forth, drunk down to his boots. He fell as he descended the steps and I watched as he clambered back to his feet and wove a track towards the grave.

On reaching it, he slumped to his knees heavily and bowed his head.

He was unaware, or he simply had no mind of my observation of him. I strained to hear as he began to talk, but I was too far away and the words were just as a whisper.

Presently he stopped talking and kissed his hand, laying it then briefly upon the stone, before heaving himself to his feet.

I watched as he walked through the garden and into the field beyond, stumbling and swaying, yet full of determination.

I wondered at this strange behaviour, why was he heading for the river?

Suddenly his intention dawned on me.

Instantly, I was on my feet and running.

I reached the river bank but there was no sign of him. I cast aside my sword and pistol and waded into the water.

The current was slow, which was a mercy, but the river was deep.

I spotted Flint floating face down some way away from me and I swam to him urgently.

Grabbing a handful of his shirt and flipping him over, I pulled him to me, with my arm around his chest I hauled us back towards the river bank.

Furiously, I dragged him out of the water.

He lay on the grass his chest still, no sign of breath.

His face looked at peace, as though sleeping. Grabbing his shoulders I shook him hard, slamming him down against the ground.

He convulsed then, coughing up great mouthfuls of water.

Flints eyes opened slowly. Confusion etched across his face as he struggled to regain his senses, he looked up at me and blinked.

"Thomas?" he uttered softly.

An expression more full of warmth I had never seen, as the one that spread across his face. Gingerly he reached out to touch my cheek. " I have found you again."

He was delirious, hallucinating through drink and fatigue. I was caught off guard by this intimacy, frozen to the spot with the unexpectedness of it.

Flints other hand reached for the nape of my neck, guiding me forward, so that my forehead softly rested against his.

"My love." He whispered against my lips before he gently pressed his against mine.

I closed my eyes.

Such tenderness I had never felt before.

It lasted but a moment. Flints hands fell away as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

I knelt over him a long time unable to move.

What strange thing had happened?

And I had allowed it, had I gone mad?

He had viewed me as something dear, something precious. Such devotion he had held in his eyes for me.

Of course it was not I who had elicited these feelings, those moments of fondness were stolen from another.

I felt a sudden and great anger against Thomas. This man lying beside me unleashed so much misery and pain unto others, created so much havoc and destruction, he did not deserve to love or be loved by another, happiness was not his right. Not any of our rights.

The realization that jealousy was at the root of my anger terrified me.

I had to leave this place.

But where would I go?

I had nothing and no one, my old life was ruined beyond repair. There was no going back to that.

Again loneliness dug at me. I gathered my pistol and sword, then slowly I heaved Flint over my shoulder and made way back towards the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Returned to the bedroom, I dumped Flint on the floor and caught my breath.

I spied a small fireplace and proceeded to start a fire. When I was happy that the flames would sustain themselves I dragged him over and left him in front of it.

I took my opportunity to look about the place.

The cabinet held nothing much of interest, various items that I struggled to understand the worth of: an old quill, a stone rounded and smooth to the touch and a broken buckle.

At the back rested a letter.

I took it eagerly.

It was addressed to someone named James and as I read I came to realize that this man and Flint were the same.

I was Immersed in it's words, so beautiful and heartfelt they were written. It was a farewell from Thomas, penned with the knowledge he was dying and had not long left to live.

He asked that he was remembered as he was and not as the sickly being he had become. His final wish was that James would find a way to accept the deeds he had done and forgive himself, as he had forgiven him.

I glanced over to Flints motionless body, then read on.

Thomas expressed his concern that James would again 'take that dark path' once he was gone and begged that he instead live a life that was good and full of happiness without him. It finished with a request that read ' Know that I regret nothing. Be faithful to the just man that I know you to be. The man I love.'

I thought that I should feel indignation, but all I felt was sorrow. Carefully I folded it and returned it to it's place.

Next I went to the wardrobe and looked inside. There were some shirts, trousers and a couple of coats. I searched through finding the largest then stripped. The fit was a little tight but they were dry, I put the chair close to the fire and hung out my wet clothes. Flint had finished his bottle of rum, a new one had been opened in its place, taking it I slumped on the bed, propping myself against the headboard.

I took a drink and looked down at the sleeping monster.

James.

Was that who he had become? I drank some more. No, he was still Flint.

I could not tear my eyes from him. The more I drank the more I wondered at the things I had not known.

Silver had known. They became that close that Flint had bared his soul to him. Was this why he chose him over me?

I was tired now, I didn't want to think about the betrayal, or the bloody aftermath any more. I took a heavy drink, hoping the rum would do it's work.

My mind would not allow me the peace I craved, I felt conflicted as I recalled another time I had sat and watched over him as he had lain unconscious. Back when I was his boatswain and he my captain. An age ago it seemed. I had marveled at the man then, defying even nature with his stubbornness and force of will.

My fate was what without him?

For the first time I contemplated this. If he had died by my hand, as I had planned, what then would become of me? I searched for an answer, naught came to mind. Without Flint would my existence be so meaningless?

A darkness descended upon me.

I closed my eyes exhausted by constant contemplation. Sleep beckoned to me at last and I was glad of her company.


	5. Chapter 5

I awoke with a start, feeling a sharp kick at my side, summoning me from my rest.

Flint stood over me, pistol (my pistol) pointed at my temple.

He shook with anger, "What the fuck do you think your doing?"

I raised a hand and sought for something to say to calm him.

Before I could answer he cut in, "Your wearing his clothes." his voice was forced, strained by the emotion it held. Calming himself he backed away a little, the cold mask returning, " Take them off and then get the fuck out."

I moved to the edge of the bed and started to pull the shirt over my head, then I paused. A powerful urge to defy him gripped me, I felt like tearing the material, shredding it about me. I could not harm his precious Thomas now, but I could render this keepsake of him to rags.

My eyes betrayed my intentions and Flint shook his head as a warning, " Take care Billy."

Gritting my teeth, I carried out his orders, undressing slowly.

I laid the shirt and trousers on the bed. Defeated. Then eyes downcast, I grabbed my own damp clothes and hurried out of his room.

* * *

Downstairs, I cursed myself and my stupidity. Why couldn't I have just killed him? Or let him kill himself? Fool. And now he had my pistol!

I Opened a door quietly, slipped inside and got dressed.

The room was furnished, but the furniture had been covered with sheets. The rugs had been rolled up and the walls left bare of paintings. This was a room that had not been lived in for a while. Listening for any noise from above, I moved to the next room, there I found much of the same, and in the next, sorrowful spaces they were.

The kitchen was bare, bar for some bottles of rum.

Flint was living in a ghost house, drinking himself to death.

I wandered towards the front door in a daze, utterly bereft of purpose.

Suddenly, the crippling sadness descended once again, and I sank heavily to my knees.

Breathing slowly, I tried to gather myself, but the deafening noise of rushing waves thundered in my ears.

Horror filled memories tangled around my mind, threatening to drag me down to the deep, dark, depths below. Contorted faces sinking into the black filled my vision, all faces I knew, calling my name, inducing a guilt so heavy it terrified me. Salt water glanced across my lips, startling me further.

I realized I was crying. Hopelessness had a tight hold of me.

I would try to fight it.

Desperately, I hammered my fist into the floor. Pain shot up my arm, dimming the turmoil I felt inside.

Salvation.

Clenching my fists I repeated the strike. Again and again, harder and harder. I concentrated on the dull thud my hand made, the throb, the burn. Again and again.

"Stop man!"

Flints command echoed down the staircase.

Pushing up groggily from the floor, I Stood on tremulous legs. Slowly, I turned to face him.

He watched me with his typical unblinking examination. I sought for something to say, to explain myself, my state, but naught came to me.

Raising an eyebrow he pointed with pistol in hand, "Your bleeding on my floor."

I looked down at my cut knuckles, blood dripping from the torn skin, fingers already stiffening with swelling, what a wretch I must seem, "It straightens my mind." I offered weakly.

That was all I could manage, lord knows, the darkness sat heavily on my shoulders still.

Flint moved down the stairs and stood before me. He motioned for me to hold out my hand, and cautiously, I did so.

Reaching out gently he touched my palm, raising the wound closer to inspect it.

Again, I was taken aback by his tender touch. Fresh tears reached my eyes.

Mercifully, his attention remained on my hand. I watched his furrowed brow, unable to read his thoughts.

"It may be broken, best to bind it."

Now he raised his gaze, meeting my own, "Use one of those sheets," He pointed to the covered furniture.

He let go of my hand then and moved to climb the stairs again, "Oh, and clean my floor."

I stood stupefied.

When he reached the top of the stairs he turned to address me once more, "When you're done, bring me a fresh bottle of rum."

I found myself nodding, and he gave a satisfactory nod in reply before returning to his room.

My hand throbbed, as did my head and heart.

I did not know why I felt the need to fulfil his wishes, but the darkness, it had started to lift from me.

I set about ripping a sheet and binding my wound, then I found a bucket and a scrubbing brush to clean the floor, after I had finished, I dutifully retrieved a bottle of rum and ascended the stairs.

His door was open. I entered, awkwardly, grasping the rum with my good hand and cleared my throat as announcement.

Flint was sat in his chair, he raised his attention from the grave, giving me a curious look.

"Floors clean." I said, keen to break his silent scrutiny of me.

He nodded, then hauled himself from his chair and walked towards me. My body tensed in anticipation.

Stopping close, he looked up into my face, bold and unashamed. I moved my gaze from his and swallowed. Defeated, yet again.

He reached out and took the bottle from me, "Not poisoned is it?" He said a wicked smile spreading across his face.

Lost for words I gaped.

Flint chuckled, brushing passed my shoulder, "Follow me."

Leading me across the landing, he opened the door to a small room. There he unrolled a patchwork quilt and laid it upon the floor.

"You can sleep here." Without looking to me for a response, he turned to leave.

"Wait," I muttered after him, confusion clouding me, "Why?" I finally managed, "Why are you doing this?"

I saw his shoulders slump. Slowly he turned to face me.

"I regret many of my actions," he shook his head, "So very many."

His jaw clenched as he brought himself back into focus, he looked at me earnestly now, " The hurt I caused you, is a burden I bear, one of my heaviest." His eyes shifted to the floor, his tone contrite, he motioned to the makeshift bed, "But I can offer no more amends than this."

There was remorse on his face, I had not seen him like this before and frankly it left me unsettled. A notion that I may get back something of my previous life flickered in me, a notion I had no right in entertaining.

We considered each other for a few moments.

So long it had been since I had known another's kindness, I found myself on the verge of offering him my thanks.

I was saved that indignity as Flint turned to leave, barking new orders over his shoulder, "Just stay out of my chamber. And don't touch my rum! "

"Aye captain." I muttered as I watched him close his door.


End file.
